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Madre Maria sotto la Croce - del Convento di celle Cortona

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Mother Mary Under the Cross – The Convent of Le Celle, Cortona

In the hush of the Tuscan hills, where stone sanctuaries breathe with centuries of devotion, stands a vision of divine sorrow and celestial hope. Here, at Le Celle—the sacred hermitage carved into Mount Sant’Egidio by the hands of Saint Francis himself—the Blessed Virgin Mary stands beneath the Cross, cloaked in quiet majesty. Time slows along the worn path where cypress trees rise like green flames, leading hearts not to spectacle, but to sacred encounter. Captured in a moment steeped in grace, this photograph transcends mere image. It becomes encounter. The Virgin does not demand attention—she draws it, gently, like a mother’s touch on a fevered brow. Her head is bowed, not in defeat, but in everlasting compassion. The Cross beside her is adorned with golden blooming roses, their petals fragile yet defiant—a crown of beauty pressed into suffering. These roses do not resist the thorns; they glorify them. The sky above seems to open in divine response, clouds parting like veils before revelation. The rosary in her hand is not just a symbol but an invitation. Pray. Hope. Endure. Love. Each bead echoes a tear, a promise, a memory—like the ones held by sons and daughters who, on days like Mother’s Day, long for one more embrace, one more whispered word. This tribute is born not only of art, but of memory—honoring the Creator's own mother and every earthly mother who has wept, believed, and loved through the sorrows of life. Mary beneath the Cross does not flee from pain; she sanctifies it. She remains. As she did then, she does now—watching, praying, sheltering all who come weary and wounded. “Behold your mother.” Her gaze says it still. Her roses bloom still. Her love never departs.

Copyright
Dino Carbetta
Image Size
6119x8566 / 349.2MB
Keywords
Contained in galleries
Portafoglio (Portfolio)
Mother Mary Under the Cross – The Convent of Le Celle, Cortona<br /> <br /> In the hush of the Tuscan hills, where stone sanctuaries breathe with centuries of devotion, stands a vision of divine sorrow and celestial hope. Here, at Le Celle—the sacred hermitage carved into Mount Sant’Egidio by the hands of Saint Francis himself—the Blessed Virgin Mary stands beneath the Cross, cloaked in quiet majesty. Time slows along the worn path where cypress trees rise like green flames, leading hearts not to spectacle, but to sacred encounter. Captured in a moment steeped in grace, this photograph transcends mere image. It becomes encounter. The Virgin does not demand attention—she draws it, gently, like a mother’s touch on a fevered brow. Her head is bowed, not in defeat, but in everlasting compassion. The Cross beside her is adorned with golden blooming roses, their petals fragile yet defiant—a crown of beauty pressed into suffering. These roses do not resist the thorns; they glorify them. The sky above seems to open in divine response, clouds parting like veils before revelation. The rosary in her hand is not just a symbol but an invitation. Pray. Hope. Endure. Love. Each bead echoes a tear, a promise, a memory—like the ones held by sons and daughters who, on days like Mother’s Day, long for one more embrace, one more whispered word. This tribute is born not only of art, but of memory—honoring the Creator's own mother and every earthly mother who has wept, believed, and loved through the sorrows of life. Mary beneath the Cross does not flee from pain; she sanctifies it. She remains. As she did then, she does now—watching, praying, sheltering all who come weary and wounded. “Behold your mother.” Her gaze says it still. Her roses bloom still. Her love never departs.